


things easily asked for

by agaave



Category: Original Work
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Infidelity, Mutually Unrequited, background cecil/yia-yia, cecil and his wife just chat and theyre chill, mentions of it at least, thats a tag??? omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaave/pseuds/agaave
Summary: “Is there anyone that you love?”Nea stills, the chalice still half-raised to her lips. She takes a deliberate swallow before lowering it to the table, one finger dragging up and down a ridge in the crystal.“Is this the kind of conversation we’re going to have?”
Kudos: 1





	things easily asked for

“You’re talking less than usual,” she says, and puts her fork down on the plate. It’s a testament to her impeccable habit of etiquette that the action doesn’t come with so much as a quiet clink.

“Do we ever talk that much?”

Nea tilts her head in acknowledgement of the fact, smiling in wry agreement. The air has never been tense between them before; they have both always known where they stand with each other. In a way, it’s oddly refreshing. She might not be the only one who knows exactly where he’s coming from, but she’s the only one he can ever talk to about it. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Delicate fingers wrap around the stem of her chalice, a finely wrought crystalline thing. The set’s been in the family seven generations, handcrafted by some artisan from who knows where. The plates are kaolin, painted in miniature swirling designs and emblazoned with the fierce boar that’s his family’s crest. Everywhere he looks is a reminder of the opulence of the life he lives, the choices that he’s made every day for the past thirty-six years. He’s usually better at not feeling like they’re the trappings of a lavish prison.

“Is there anyone that you love?”

Nea stills, the chalice still half-raised to her lips. She takes a deliberate swallow before lowering it to the table, one finger dragging up and down a ridge in the crystal. 

“Is this the kind of conversation we’re going to have?”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I assume you’re not trying to ask me about the twins,” she says, and she leans very slightly forward in her seat, her wrists resting on the table. She’s right. Of the things that have never been in question, the way they feel about their children is one of them. 

“No,” she says, in response to his silence, “there’s no one.”

“Was there ever anyone?”

Her lips part very slightly, the barest hint of surprise darting across her face. Her answer comes a moment later. “I don’t know.”

He would have accepted that answer, but he can see her still considering. Still thinking.

“Before you, there was a marquis. Rhys. Our families had made the agreement when I was born, and we both grew up knowing what we were eventually going to become. We… spent a lot of time together. I liked him. I remember thinking once, that if I had to spend the rest of my life with someone... I’d be more than just content with him. Then his father squandered their money and their reputation, and I never saw him again."

He's never heard her talk like this before. Something heavy seems to curl around her shoulders and stay there.

"Maybe it wasn't love. But when you're at that age, doesn't it seem like the same thing?"

He doesn't know. He never had anything like that at that age, too busy being reckless and casually indulged in all the other distractions of life. Holding on to what he had before he grew up and everything changed. Before they both turned twenty and had been informed of the rest of their lives. 

Cecil still remembers the first time they'd met. He'd known her name and lineage long before ever knowing her face, because that's how things were done. That was what had mattered to his family, to the future of the house.

She was beautiful. But they had all been beautiful. There had been many women, carefully considered by title and reputation and wealth and beauty, before he had been advised to choose Nea. He had asked, and she had accepted, and after the traditional length of engagement, they were married.

It had been simple, then. Neither of them had been bitter or resentful. This was their lot and it could have been worse. 

He had been happy to discover that he liked her. Not that their own personal feelings mattered much in the end, but it was less annoying to be married to someone whose personality was pleasantly tolerable. She hadn't harbored any delusions to attempt to force a budding relationship, and it had been clear from their first meeting that this was a partnership of practicality alone. It had been relieving to know that this wasn't something they had to negotiate.

Once their vows had been said, they had distanced from each other. They still made appearances when expected, looked appropriately like a couple when necessary, but whiled away their spare time elsewhere when their obligations didn't force them together. It had gone that way for a couple of years, until the next set of questions had been asked.

That part had also been simple. They could still tolerate each other, and beyond that there was a physical attraction that worked fine for them both. She had moved back into the castle for the first time since their marriage, although their bedrooms were still separate for anyone who cared to investigate. 

When the twins had been born, they had stood at each other's shoulders and received their congratulations from well-wishers together. _A picturesque, happy family,_ people had said. 

Both he and Nea had been brought up too well to laugh.

It was tradition, in their families, for children to be wet-nursed, brought up by various nannies and tutors. Neither of them had needed to be very involved. He had made more of an effort to, in the beginning. Maybe he’d just wanted to be better to them than his parents had been to him. 

That hadn’t lasted long. 

When had he lost it? 

Somewhere along the line, he had lost his placidity. He had lost the resignation. And he’d never felt it this strongly. 

“Who is it?”

Blue eyes were on him, unwavering.

“You didn’t ask me for no reason. So… who is it you love?”

The truth of it forces a laugh from him. “You’d never believe it.”

“Is it the redhead? She’s the only one I remember.”

He didn’t remember her. How little they mattered, all the past affairs. How quickly he had forgotten their names and faces in the wake of someone real. 

“No.”

“Are you going to make me guess? I’ve never been very good at guessing.”

“His name is Yia-Yia.”

A little furrow appears between her brows, as she tries to process the way he’s presented the name. Like she should know it. The furrow deepens as the answer clicks, and he knows she doubts it, at first. He did the same thing, after all. 

“Yia-Yia? Like the prince.”

“Not _like._ He is.”

Her eyebrows lift mildly, and she reaches for her glass. “Really?”

“Really.”

She studies his face, trying to see if he’s joking or not. The realization that he’s not makes her press her lips together, her head shaking slightly as she takes a sip of her wine. He knows she’s not judging. She doesn’t have to. 

“You’re not asking for my permission, are you? You’ve never needed it before,” she says, and he shakes his head, leaning back in his seat.

“No. But you asked what was on my mind.”

A silence hangs in the air, and her lips quirk as she realizes why.

“Well,” she says, and rests her cheek in one hand, her wedding band glittering on her finger, “I don’t expect to be ruined by this.”

“Of course.”

“And the twins still need to be cared for.”

“Right.”

“If you chase after your happiness, on your own head be it.”

Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a condemnation.


End file.
